


Normal

by thedevilchicken



Category: RED (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Frank Moses just wants a normal life.





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryontop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryontop/gifts).



The thing is, when it really comes down to it, Frank Moses just wants a normal life. 

It's what drove Sarah away in the end, that _normal_ streak about ten miles wide where all he wants to do is get the job done, get the excitement over, and then get home to mow the lawn. Cooper knows this because he's been living with Frank Moses in a kind of exclusive, high-end gated community for the past six weeks and change. He thought, going in, that it'd be a tough assignment, but it turns out the toughest thing has been exactly how tough it's not - once upon a time that might not have made much sense to him, but around Frank, well, he's learned to wing it. 

When the bullshit with the VP got run up the chain of command, it turned out Cooper had really only left them with two options: throw him under the bus and suck up the truly epic bad PR, or the other thing. They did the other thing because that was the only _real_ option he'd left them and they all knew it, because it was the only option that didn't make the Agency look like hammered crap. They did the other thing: they called him a hero and gave him a big promotion. Turned out he made a pretty good new Cynthia, but he guessed he couldn't've made a worse one.

He didn't see Frank again till after the divorce. Actually, he didn't see Frank again till maybe a year after the divorce, after his ex-wife and the kids had moved two hours away to be closer to her parents and farther from imminent death, though that wasn't to say he hadn't heard from him in the meantime. He'd gotten postcards in the mail for months by then from weird new locations all around the world and when he'd checked in with his contacts there, he'd see Frank's signature fucking chaos spread all over the landscape, his subtlety in the minus digits. Somehow, somewhere down the line, that shit had gotten to be the highlight of his day.

Postcards weren't the extent of it. Cooper had been feeling pretty sorry for himself for a pretty long while when the romance novels starting turning up in his mailbox, or in the internal mail at Langley, or sometimes a bike messenger would shove an envelope into his hands outside a coffee shop and it'd be _Love's Savage_ goddamn _Secret_ with a handwritten note from Frank scrawled in scratchy ballpoint pen all over the inside cover. He'd shoved them into a drawer till he couldn't sleep one night and the next thing he knew, he was completely hooked. Frank Moses had a lot to answer for. After all, espionage was nothing like the books.

Books weren't the extent of it, either. Next up were the phone calls, sometimes 5am and Frank caught him waking up still groggy in bed, sometimes midday and he'd be stuck in a meeting at work, sometimes 8pm while he was out on a run or in the store because he'd realized the milk in the refrigerator was all set to grow legs and take a walk. Sometimes Frank sounded far away, on a shitty line like he was calling from half a world away or on a sat phone halfway up a mountain. Cooper never asked where he was, but he guessed he did always answer the call no matter when it came. He liked to pretend that wasn't meaningful.

Then: a rogue agent. Or, really, a rogue asset, not a real bona fide civil servant the way he was. And okay, so the Agency shouldn't've been involved on US soil, but Cooper figured that had never really stopped them before and besides which, they had an obligation to clean up their own goddamn mess in their own goddamn back yard. So he picked up the phone and he called the only guy he was sure he could trust, because he was the only guy who he was pretty sure hadn't lied to him even once in the whole time he'd known him. Frank said yes and asked if he should call Marvin or Victoria. Cooper was pretty sure that could only end in certain doom, so he told him _come alone_ ; mercifully, he did.

They moved in six weeks ago, and the truth of the matter is that okay, so the neighborhood is twisted, but Frank makes a pretty great husband. 

Cooper goes to work in the day because there's no easy way to explain both of them being home 24/7 - he's playing at high-tech corporate IT consulting, which works out pretty well because he's not total crap behind the keyboard and five of the neighbors have asked him to take a look at their laptops. Turns out none of them are the shady fucking fuck who somehow wiped their entire presence right out of all US governmental databases, at least not that he could tell, but he sure got a good idea of the type of porn the neighbors like. In a couple of cases, he's pretty sure that was the point.

Frank's a surprisingly cheerful ex-US Navy commander, so the buy-in papers say, who's turned his hand to writing romance novels in the wake of the repeal of _don't ask, don't tell_. People like Frank - he helped Jack and Dawn from number 9 install their amazing new backyard grill, got Pete at number 12's dilapidated Porsche 550 spyder back on the road again after three years up on blocks in the garage (much to his wife's delight), and caught the Chens at number 7's bichon frise when it absconded to romance the Andersons at number 14's excitable new labradoodle. It's a pretty packed schedule, day to day. Frank weathers it pretty well.

And, at the end of the day, Cooper comes home and Frank's there waiting for him, ready to put dinner on the table. He's a pretty good cook, surprisingly, and he's a pretty good gardener, and a pretty good handyman, and a pretty good mechanic, too, and the guy even vacuums and dusts and takes Cooper's suits out to the dry cleaner. He spends time talking to their neighbors about power washers to get the moss off of the decking in the yard and no one suspects he's an SOB from a TLA, FYI. Maybe no one suspects, at least. Cooper's not even sure he would himself, if he didn't know. 

Today, it's Saturday. Jack and Dawn have been planning their barbecue for weeks now, since Frank rode in on his goddamn white horse and helped them get the grill up and running, and the whole damn neighborhood's poured into their yard, around the packed-out swimming pool, even the Chens with their frisky bichon frise and the Andersons with their labradoodle. Frank's wearing cargo shorts with a pair of peach-colored flip-flops that Cooper finds pretty hilarious and they've split up to cover more ground with the neighbors they just haven't been able to meet yet. But still, every time Cooper looks up, Frank's looking at him. It's about as subtle as a goddamn Kalashnikov.

So, he thinks _screw it_ , and he excuses himself from the Chens and the Andersons with a smile that might even look genuine, and he makes his way over to Frank with a beer in each hand that he's snagged from the drinks table. He hands one to him. When he half-smiles at Frank and they clink flimsy plastic glasses, that really is genuine. The truth of the matter is, as much a surprise to him as to anyone else: he actually likes Frank Moses. 

He guesses they didn't have to go in there as husbands, rings on their fingers and a shared last name, the works, but that's the cover they've got and they're sticking to it. Frank rests one hand at the small of Cooper's back as he smiles and leans in to tell him, like it's some kind of couples' small talk, that he's pretty sure the Baigs at number 21 aren't plotting to overthrow the White House. Cooper squeezes Frank's shoulder. When Frank leans in to kiss him, lightly, not too quickly, on the mouth, it's nothing scandalous - they're not the only gay couple there, the place is pretty liberal, and everybody knows. But, the point is, Cooper's not so blasé about it as their neighbors are. Frank knows that. 

"You wanna get out of here?" Frank asks, and Cooper knows he shouldn't, but he really, really does. That's not just because his jaw's starting to ache from his best fake neighborly smile.

"Sure," he says. "If I have to eat another of Jack's shitty burgers, I think I'm going to have to shoot him." 

Frank snorts. Cooper not-quite-smirks and shakes his head, and he reaches down to take Frank's hand - he's pretty sure that's the done thing, after all. And they leave together, like that, with a quick thank you to their hosts. They head back to their temporary home. 

Cooper's pretty sure what will follow, because they've been there before. It was kind of an accident the first time, he guesses, because when Frank swept the house for bugs at the end of their first week like he'd done every day since they'd arrived, he found a couple there newly installed, and they couldn't take them out because their cover pretty much depended on them not doing that. So, they held their cover. They talked about Cooper's day at the office. They talked about Frank's shitty romance novel, the one that he was actually writing in the afternoons, on his laptop over iced tea out in the yard. They ate dinner at the table, then they went to bed, to the same bed, took off their clothes and stretched out together. Frank kissed him goodnight. It turned out Cooper liked it. It turned out Frank could tell. 

They did the same thing the next night. They did the same thing the night after that. After that, Frank pressed him to the back of the front door when he came in from work and pressed their mouths together, slow and hot. After that, Frank pressed him up against the kitchen sink as he was washing up before dinner and pressed his mouth to the back of Cooper's neck. After that, Frank pushed him up against the closet door as he was changing before bed. Cooper liked it. Frank could tell. And they both knew they needed to go further if they were going to get this thing done. 

They jerked each other off in bed that night, kneeling, naked, face to face, the AC all fucked up so the whole thing was way too hot for comfort. Frank blew him in the shower in the morning, grumbling about his goddamn knees the whole damn time. And then, when the weekend rolled around, Cooper knelt and turned to face the headboard, his fingers closing tightly at the stylish wooden slats. Frank ran his hands down Cooper's back, to the curve of his ass, to the backs of his thighs. He remembers Frank's fingertips between his legs, behind his balls, the way he jumped at that, the way Frank snickered, amused but not unpleasant. 

He remembers Frank's thumb between his cheeks, against his hole, making him shiver. He remembers lube Frank had bought at the local pharmacy and how they didn't use condoms because some how they figured their aliases wouldn't. He remembers how he groaned as Frank pushed his slick cock up into him, stretching him wide open around the long, thick length of him the way he hadn't been in years. When Frank started to move, gripping at his hips and cursing, Cooper moved to meet him. When Frank reached around to stroke Cooper's cock, he remembers the way he only partially bit back a fucking moan. When Frank came in him, pushed up deep, he felt it in the way Frank's body tensed. When Cooper came, Frank kept on stroking till he was almost fucking shaking with it.

He was pretty sure they were convincing. They were convincing again that afternoon, too. 

They leave the smell of burning hamburgers behind and make their way back home, across the street and three doors down, in stride together. Cooper's pretty sure they'll go inside and he'll press Frank up against the back of the front door and hell, maybe they'll do it there, Frank's cargo shorts dropped down to cover up his ugly flip-flops and Cooper's jeans pushed down around his thighs. And after, maybe they'll clean their guns on their kitchen table while they talk about taking a vacation somewhere overseas that they'll never really go on, or they'll go to bed and Frank will read him the new chapter of his book. As far as Cooper can tell, he could make a living at it if he wanted to. As far as Cooper can tell, he's writing about the two of them...just as if they were gay pirate captains fighting over sunken booty. Hs swears that's not a euphemism, but Cooper's not convinced.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Frank asks, as they walk, and Cooper tucks one hand into Frank's back pocket like he's an obnoxious teen and not pushing forty. 

"Shoot," he says, then he darts him a narrow-eyed, sidelong glance. "Just not literally, Frank. Don't get any ideas."

Frank shakes his head pseudo-sadly, then he stops by the end of their driveway, by the sporty SUV Cooper drives to work that's probably never going to see a moment's off-road action, at least not unless their rogue agent takes a literal run for the hills they can see on the horizon. Cooper turns to look at him. Frank clears his throat. 

"You want to get a place when we're done here?" he asks, looking maybe like he's nervous because he's fiddling with the fake wedding ring the way he does when he is. There's a photo album in the house they put together back at Langley and a few other places besides that, a couple of snaps of the two of them in tuxes and those rings, and dicking around at the beach, and doing a really shitty job of paddling a canoe. He remembers they capsized about four seconds after that was taken and wound up sprawled on top of each other back on shore, wet and snickering though they were both half-drowned. He's pretty sure that was when he knew he'd made the right choice. 

"Nothing fancy," Frank goes on. "Just, y'know, a nice kitchen, a yard, a big old tree...maybe a safe room just in case Marvin stops by."

Cooper frowns. "Are you asking me to move in with you?" he asks. 

Frank seems to consider this with a tilt of his head and a furrowed brow. Then he nods, suddenly sure. "Yeah, I guess I am," he says. 

So, Cooper shrugs and half-smiles and turns back toward their thoroughly bugged house. "Sure, Frank," he says, as he heads toward the door, because he's heard ideas that are a hundred times worse. "Why the hell not." 

They've been there six weeks now, and they're pretty sure maybe thirty-six of their neighbors' households aren't harboring rogue agents trying to collapse the US government. There's forty-eight houses there behind the gates and they'll get there in the end, he thinks, maybe not even too far away from now. In the meantime, they'll keep up the charade. 

The thing is, when it really comes down to it, Frank Moses just wants a normal life. And okay, so Cooper can't actually call any of this shit normal, but it's at least half of the way there. 

Frank wants a normal life. And the thing is, when it comes down to it, that's exactly what Cooper wants, too. The job's the job, and they're good at it, but that's not all there is to life; there's also lawns to mow, and romance novels won't write themselves.

They want a normal life. And maybe, Cooper thinks, when this job's done and Frank's not blowing up half of Moldova, they might even get there.

**Author's Note:**

> A sort-of-relevant quote: 
> 
> _Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal._ \- Albert Camus


End file.
